Chapter 7 - The Man Who Knew Too Much
Thomas Sloan entered Richard Bennett's room carrying a basket of fruit.
It was such an ordinary gesture that Claire almost doubted what she had just seen.
Almost.
Richard's hand was still gripping hers.
His fingers trembled.
Thomas placed the basket on a side table.
“Richard, my friend. How are we feeling today?”
Richard stared at him.
“Fine,” he managed.
Thomas smiled.
“Wonderful.”
Then he turned to Claire.
“I heard about you and Daniel.”
Claire's face remained still.
“That's private.”
“Of course. I only meant that I'm sorry.”
Rebecca stood.
“I'm Rebecca Shaw, Claire's attorney.”
Thomas looked surprised.
“Attorney?”
“Yes.”
“What an interesting gathering.”
Claire closed Richard's notebook.
Thomas noticed.
“What's that?”
“His notes.”
“Ah.”
He glanced toward Richard.
“Still keeping track of everything?”
Richard looked down.
Claire felt his hand tighten again.
Thomas turned back to her.
“I hope you're not troubling him with business matters. His doctors have been very clear about avoiding stress.”
Rebecca answered before Claire could.
“We're being careful about his health.”
“Good.”
Thomas checked his watch.
“Well, I won't interrupt.”
He leaned toward Richard.
“Take care of yourself, old friend.”
Richard didn't answer.
Thomas left.
Nobody spoke until his footsteps faded.
Then Richard whispered, “Don't.”
Claire leaned closer.
“Don't what?”
“Trust.”
She squeezed his hand.
“I won't.”
Rebecca arranged for the care staff to assess Richard after the stressful encounter.
His condition stabilized.
But he refused to discuss Thomas again that evening.
Outside the residence, Marcus Bell was waiting in his car.
Rebecca had asked him to come after Richard identified the three names.
Marcus listened carefully.
Then he said, “We need to separate what Richard knows from what he fears.”
Claire looked at him.
“You saw how he reacted?”
“I believe you. But we still need evidence.”
“What about the notebook?”
“It may be important. Preserve it properly, with Richard's permission.”
Claire stared through the windshield.
Thomas had been part of their lives for years.
He had attended birthdays.
Christmas dinners.
Richard's retirement party.
He had once helped Daniel repair a broken porch railing.
Claire remembered him standing in their kitchen, laughing with a beer in his hand.
Now she wondered how many times he had been lying to their faces.
At eight that evening, Daniel received a call from Claire's attorney.
Rebecca explained that Claire was safe and that she would not discuss the marriage directly with him.
Then she asked a question.
“Did your father ever express concerns about Thomas Sloan?”
Daniel was silent.
“Why?”
“Because we're investigating information that may be relevant to your firm's financial issues.”
Daniel stood.
“My father had a falling-out with Thomas before his stroke.”
“What kind?”
“He thought Thomas was hiding losses.”
“Did he have evidence?”
“I don't know.”
“Did he ever mention Gregory Pike?”
Daniel paused.
“Yes.”
Rebecca waited.
Daniel rubbed his forehead.
“Dad said Gregory wasn't acting like an independent attorney anymore. He said Thomas had too much influence over him.”
“When?”
“A few weeks before the stroke.”
Rebecca wrote it down.
“Daniel, you need to preserve everything you have and discuss this with independent counsel.”
“I already have.”
“Good.”
He hesitated.
“How's Claire?”
Rebecca's voice softened slightly.
“She's taking care of herself.”
Daniel closed his eyes.
“Please tell her I'm sorry.”
“That's something you'll need to address through the appropriate channels.”
The call ended.
Daniel sat alone in his office.
Then he opened an old email archive.
He searched his father's name.
Richard had served as an informal adviser to the firm during its early years.
He had invested money when Daniel and Thomas first established the partnership.
There were hundreds of messages.
Most were ordinary.
But one, dated three weeks before the stroke, caught Daniel's attention.
Daniel, I need you to review the Northline arrangements. Thomas says everything is legitimate, but the payment structure doesn't make sense. Please don't discuss this with him until we speak.
Daniel read the message again.
He had never seen it.
He checked the email history.
It had been marked as read.
Then moved into an archive folder.
At 3:18 a.m.
On a night Daniel had been traveling in Denver.
He stared at the screen.
Someone had accessed his account.
He immediately contacted his attorney and arranged for a forensic preservation of the mailbox and relevant system logs.
Then he called his father.
Richard answered after several rings.
“Daniel?”
“Dad.”
A long pause.
“Son.”
Daniel's throat tightened.
“I found your email.”
Richard said nothing.
“The one about Northline.”
Daniel heard his father breathing.
Then Richard whispered, “Finally.”
Daniel pressed the phone harder against his ear.
“Dad, what happened?”
Silence.
Then Richard said something that made Daniel's blood run cold.
“Your mother.”
Daniel froze.
His mother, Evelyn Bennett, had died six years earlier.
“What about Mom?”
Richard struggled to speak.
“Her... files.”
Daniel sat forward.
“What files?”
“Blue... box.”
Daniel stared at the wall.
He remembered a blue metal document box in his parents' old house.
His mother had kept insurance papers and family records inside it.
After her death, Daniel had helped Richard sort through the house.
But he hadn't seen the box in years.
“Where is it?”
Richard answered slowly.
“Basement.”
Daniel stood.
“Your old house?”
“Yes.”
“Dad, what am I looking for?”
Richard took a shaky breath.
May you like
Then said five words.
“Your mother knew about Thomas.”
